I smiled, and for once I saw the lordly grin leave his face.
At that moment we heard footsteps nearing and Doña Maria’s voice behind us.
“Hello, hijos!” she said with a warm smile. As she got closer, her expression turned curious. Chandler put the hand with my undergarments behind his back.
“Hola, Doña Maria,” Chandler said, his smile broad.
“How was your date?” I chirped.
“Very good,” she giggled, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a mature woman. “You two are having a serious conversation?”
“We were just saying goodnight,” Chandler interjected, all ease. I was still trying to cool off.
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Okay. Buenas noches.” She turned to head back to the living room, where she was apparently hanging out with her date. I also turned toward my bed, feeling worn out from all of the sexual energy I’d expended tonight.
“Hey Squirt,” Chandler said, before I could close the door to my room.
I stuck my head out so that I could see him. “What?”
“Sweet dreams,” he said. His smile was positively evil, and my panties were draped over his head like a hat. He winked, then popped his head back into his room and shut the door.
In my room, I collapsed on top of my covers, mentally and physically exhausted as hell from our interaction. Within five minutes, I was fast asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, I instinctively reached for my phone, like I always did, but it wasn’t within arm’s reach. Instead, after I looked around, I saw that it was on my desk on top of my copy of Don Quixote.
Shit. I hadn’t even texted Javier to tell him I couldn’t make it, I realized.
I sat up in bed and leaned toward the window, pulling up the shades to my bedroom. A single blackbird appeared on my windowsill, chirped at me, and hopped a few times before flinching and flying away.
Judging by the soft outside light, I estimated it was around 7 a.m. or so. For having just woken up, I felt surprisingly awake. Actually, I felt the best I’d felt in months. Was it the Barcelona sun and air? Maybe. But probably not, I thought, glancing at the wall between Chandler and me. However, that was not a thought I was going to entertain; at least, not for long. It was completely absurd to think that a guy I barely knew was the reason for my good mood.
I swung my legs around and put my feet on the floor. Last night’s events came surging back to me. What had happened felt like a dream. Or maybe a porn scene. What was it about Chandler that both ticked me off and turned me on so much at once?
I yawned, realizing something funny. Last night, I’d fallen right asleep, no problem. That hadn’t happened the entire time I had been in Spain. I’d either taken my meds, or struggled for hours before finally falling asleep. Hell, it’d been months since I’d fallen asleep normally and it felt great to be drug free instead of waking up in a haze.
Unlike most mornings, I felt spry and ready to go already. Motivated, I jumped in the shower, and when I got back to my room, I played ‘Lovely Day’ by Bill Withers on my laptop—an old favorite that my dad used to put on in the mornings sometimes when I was a kid. I threw on a floral dress that was almost too short to keep it classy. But I was feeling a little edgy today so I went with it.
I checked my phone and smiled at a text message from my dad. He sent me random texts of positive quotes. Mom sent a long email. Hers was more parental: are you taking your meds? Remember to tell your host mom about your food allergy. No drinking! Don’t forget your weekly meeting with Dr. Han. Sam got promoted at his firm, and send that busy brother of yours an email once in awhile. Grandma…grandpa, aunts, uncles…news, news, news. I set the phone aside and finished getting ready. I loved my mom, adored her, but for a hippie yoga instructor, when it came to me, she got more wound than a coil.
I was blasting the music when Chandler finally stumbled out of his room and passed mine on the way to the shower. He caught me in the middle of doing a twirl.
“Someone woke up on the right side of the bed, huh?” he murmured. He had a serious case of bedhead. Again, he was shirtless with just sweatpants on and a towel slung over his shoulder.
I kept dancing. “Gonna be a lovely day.” I smiled.
“I like seeing you happy, Squirt,” he said, returning my smile, and my heart throbbed. We looked each other in the eyes but neither of us addressing the oh-so-very-awkward events that occurred last night.
I locked my eyes on his, and I wondered what it would be like to run my hands down his chest, staring at his neck and landing on the V shape that his abs made.
I shook myself out of it and reminded myself of Doña Maria’s warning. Tiene muchas chicas.
“Yeah, uh, I think we really worked on building our friendship last night,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’m glad we didn’t cross any lines though. That would be bad.” Masturbating to each other didn’t count, right?
“Yes, that would be bad,” he repeated, but he didn’t look like he meant it. The song ended on my laptop. I grabbed it, put it in my backpack, and headed toward the door, toward Chandler. He took up the whole door frame, completely blocking my exit. He reached out and grabbed a few locks of my brown hair and whispered, “But I really want to be bad with you. Especially after seeing what a bad girl you really are, Squirt.”
I blushed, and inside, I wanted to do another dance because what girl didn’t want to hear that from a guy as hot as him? But self-preservation had me blurting out, “Chandler, no. We really shouldn’t. We can’t.”
“Give me one date,” he countered.
Oh, who was I kidding? After what I did, was the friendship pact still legitimate? I knew Chandler didn’t think so, not that he ever really had. “A…date?” I asked, weary.
He crossed his arms across his chest, which was really distracting since I couldn’t keep my eyes off his muscles. “Yes. You know? Like what our grandparents used to do to show interest in each other before everything was all one-night stands and dating sites.”
I had to stop staring at his body because my brain cells were being obliterated, and I forced my eyes to his. “I still don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll prove you wrong.”
The man would not back down. I didn’t budge. “No can do. Sorry I’m not sorry, this will never work.”
“I don’t understand why you’re resisting this, Amy. Your eyes were closed last night when I saw you at my door watching me.”
I knew he’d found the evidence of my standing there, but my throat went dry at knowing he’d seen me touching myself. The only consolation was that he didn’t think I was a pervert or angry for my actions. This got complicated so fast, and it was all my doing. “I’m sorry about that, and it was wrong of me,” I said, haltingly. “That was a mistake. I won’t repeat it.”
“Fine, but I’m not sorry at all,” he said, lowly, his jaw tightening. His arms dropped and he put his hands at his hips and I could tell he was getting annoyed with me. No—frustrated. “Tell me you aren’t attracted to me in the slightest and we’ll forget that ever happened.”
Now he was starting to piss me off again. His pushiness just made my resolve that much more ironclad. “I told you, I am physically attracted to you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”
“Why do you assume I’m going to sleep with you?” he shot back.
I exhaled. “You were sure thinking about it last night.”
“Ha! Well, you’re right…” His demeanor changed, which put me on guard even more. “I definitely want to show you how the real thing feels,” he concluded, with a slow smile.
Men, so predictable but I felt like I had the upper hand again. Then, for some reason, his eyes went to my desk right by the door, and the bottle of pills I hadn’t hidden away.
“What is that?” He was about to reach for it when I snatched it out of his reach and stuffed it in the drawer. He snapped his head toward me, a little taken back. “Did that say ‘Prozac’?
”
The panic was immediate. “I found it in the drawer,” I lied, trying to keep my voice even. “Must be Maria’s.” I inwardly cringed at how fake I sounded.
Chandler frowned, a crease between his eyebrows. “She doesn’t seem the type. Prozac’s an antidepressant,” he said with a neutral tone of voice. “It’s used for people with personality, panic and anxiety disorders, and depression.”
Fear cut right through me, at him finding out because right at that moment, I remembered that he was a psych major.
“Then again, I don’t know her that well,” he added, thoughtfully. He clearly wasn’t associating the pills with me in any way. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or not about that.
Then another thought crossed my brain. Chandler being a psych major made me wonder if he’d be more understanding of my own condition.
“You probably read a lot of case studies on that kind of thing, huh?” I ventured, curious about his response. “People with mental disorders and that kind of thing?”
He nodded, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “My interest isn’t really in therapy, research or psychiatric care. I wanted to learn it to play basketball better—get into my opponent’s heads and all that. Maybe even coach college ball someday…” He gave me a wry smile. “Obviously, I learn about every aspect within the field itself but going into that particular field, no thanks.”
I had this sinking feeling about this conversation but I had to keep asking. “So,” I said, barely finding my voice, “you don’t really like dealing with people with mental disorders, is what you’re saying?”
He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s not that. I understand the basics of it and that a lot of people suffer from it and it doesn’t make you this freak or anything. But I guess I’d never wanted to deal with that directly, y’know?” he said, shaking his head and looking off, lost in thought again. “A lot of the case studies dealt with the emotional turmoil for the patient and their families… I just knew right away that that side of psychology was way more then I wanted to deal with and it just didn’t interest me all that much.” He gave a one-shouldered, casual shrug and looked at me. “I mean, there are other reasons too but my interest has always been more on the behavioral and social side of psychology.”
The emotional turmoil. Yeah. On me but on my family as well. My parents had never made me feel bad about my disorder. They’d actually felt like it was their fault when the reasons behind my depression were likely chemical. My disorder didn’t rule me but it was a part of me and my life, for good or for bad. Up or down. And not everyone could handle it, or wanted to and that was okay. That was fine. It just meant I couldn’t be more than just casual friends with Chandler. He wasn’t an ‘all in’ kind of guy and from this revealing discussion, my original instincts had been correct.
At least, he didn’t think I was a freak, so that was something.
With everything aired between us, I had no desire to continue this line of conversation. Ever. Chandler did understand, but he wanted nothing to do with that. With me. Not the real me, or all of me. I wasn’t worth all that complicated trouble and Chandler wanted the very opposite of troubled and complicated. I’d felt the need to hide my disorder from a lot of people in the past and it’d prevented me from getting too close because of reactions and explanations like the one Chandler had just given. I fully accepted my reality. I wasn’t going to try to lay my issues on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with it—like I had mistakenly done with Scott. It just reminded me that I needed to be more guarded than ever.
“How about this,” I proposed, forcing a smile and levity in my voice, and damn if I hadn’t sold it. “I’ll let you take me out as friends this Friday. Per the pact.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “As friends?”
“Yep. Within the friend zone boundaries,” I said, relief flooding through me. For once, I was thankful for his one-track mind. “Remember the list, our pact, okay? We both agreed to be friends.”
Whatever he thought that was, it made him smile. Big. “If that’s all I can get, I’ll take it.”
“Great!” I said brightly, and made a mental note to review my list, just in case Chandler found a way around any of the rules. “Now move, I have a day I have to crush.”
However, I had to push him aside until he finally let me through. “Oh hey, and Squirt, I almost forgot to tell you one more thing.”
I rolled my eyes and turned, letting his charm work on me because it was easier than feeling anything else. He spoke in a tone that was surprisingly sincere. “Your ass looks sexy as fuck in that dress. Have a great day.” He winked, turned around and walked toward the bathroom.
I opened my mouth to say some kind of retort back to him, but nothing came out. I ended up whispering to myself, “Your ass isn’t so bad yourself. Too bad you are also an ass.”
But he really wasn’t, and that was the problem.
Despite my conversation with Chandler, I was choosing to not let it bring me down. Dad would be proud of me. Dr. Han, I’m sure, would say I’m making progress. While I didn’t like Chandler’s answer, he’d been truthful with me, whereas, I hadn’t. It was strange that I felt closer and even more attracted to him even though he’d made it clear to me that being friends would be the only way to keep that closeness intact. If that’s all I would get, I’d have to be okay with it and mean it. A part of me was okay with that because I was actually beginning to see him as a real friend versus my superficial friendship with Becca, or others, in my program.
Surprisingly, at school, I felt so tuned in and relaxed that I actually understood what my Spanish teacher was saying today. I even added some to the discussion about Don Quixote. Every time he heard me, he seemed surprised that I was paying attention and contributing.
After class, Becca and I sat on a bench in the sun to eat the lunches we had packed. The weather was perfect, a little warmer than expected and it was nice watching other students milling about campus. I dug into my backpack and pulled out my brown paper bag. Once I opened it, I saw that Doña Maria had given me a few pieces of classic Spanish tortilla with an apple. It was basic but delicious.
“You’re like, in a good mood today.” Instead of grating, Becca’s Valley Girl intonation was really starting to grow on me. “What got into you? Good date with Mr. Spaniard last night, I’m assuming?”
I smiled and thought about how this was the first pill-free day I’d had in quite some time, and I was feeling excellent, despite it all. I sat there, frozen in place for a few seconds when it hit that I hadn’t taken my pills because Chandler had interrupted my routine this morning. I mentally shrugged it off even though Dr. Han would be alarmed if she found out. Then again, she’d be just as alarmed about me drinking while on my meds but to be fair, I wasn’t trying to be irresponsible on purpose. Of course I’d get right back on my pill routine starting tomorrow morning. However, if I continued on a path of not taking them, then…
“Uh, Earth to Amy,” Becca prodded, nudging me with a sandled foot.
I gave a start and looked over at her. “Oh—ah…I actually bailed on the date,” I told her, barely recalling her question.
She squinted. “Why?”
I sighed. “The night just got a little weird, to be honest. And I didn’t feel well.”
“What do you mean, ‘got a little weird’?”
“I saw Chandler doing…you know.” I gave her a look. She gave me one back, almost egging me to say it. “On his bed, when he thought no one was around,” I said, keeping it PG since we were in public.
Becca’s jaw dropped. “You saw Chandler Spiros shaking hands with Mr. Happy?”
I burst out laughing. “He’d probably call it the five-finger shuffle.”
Becca laughed too, and suddenly we were both laughing so hard that people were staring at us in the courtyard of the university as they walked by.
“So how was the show?” Becca finally managed to ask when we had calme
d down.
“Let’s just say I didn’t hate seeing him do the five-finger shuffle.” I paused, reconsidering my words. “Well, to be more accurate, at some point he used all ten.”
I would just leave out the little detail about how I felt inspired to join him.
Becca sighed. “I’m so jealous you have him for a host brother. You were right to stay just friends with him though. In my opinion.”
“Oh yeah?” I fished. “Why is that?”
“He’s a major player,” Becca said, with all seriousness. “Biggest one on campus at UNC. I don’t think he’s ever had an actual girlfriend—nothing long-term, I mean. Just leaves a trail of girls with broken hearts.”
“So he’s not a one woman type of guy?” I asked, but I’d already figured that out.
“Hah! He’s the furthest thing from it.”
“You know this first hand?”
“Well, I heard from a friend of a friend who is a model.” Becca got real animated now. “A model! He went on three dates and they definitely hooked up. And then he ended it saying she was shallow!”
“Was she?” I asked, digging into my lunch.
Becca chuckled. “Are you trying to defend him?”
“No, I just want to get the facts straight,” I said, but she was right. I was defending him. “It just sounds like hearsay is all—a friend of a friend said this and that?”
Becca shook her head, her expression stern. “Trust me girl, don’t go down that path. I know he probably says things about how you’re so great, you’re pretty, blah blah blah. He’s smooth as ice. But he’s saying that to another girl right now…”
I knew she was right but it bothered me, to see one side of him at home, like I was seeing the real him and then to hear this, what was probably the reality. Still, I couldn’t help the things I was feeling for him. But instead of arguing with Becca, I took a big bite of my Spanish tortilla and chewed, saying nothing.
“You know,” she went on, dramatically, picking at her salad with a plastic fork, “his nickname around campus at UNC is Casanova. And I heard a couple of basketball friends call him that when we went out on Tuesday night, so it sounds like a rep he plans on maintaining while abroad.”
Mechanic with Benefits Page 25
